Colonel Meow, Liam Neeson, and my friend’s episiotomy: Which of these things is unlike the others?

I am entering in the Colonel Meow Pumpkin Carving/PaintingContest. So I’ve got that going for me. 
Because that’s a sign of your infinite mental health: when you are entering, not one, but two pumpkins into the decorating contest of a cat named Colonel Meow whose fan page you happen to follow on Facebook. You also may or may not have several photos of him saved that you now use instead of words when you want to text people how displeased you are. Example: Rather than texting:“Carter, I really hate that you left dirty dishes all over the living room last night” – I just send him this:
Maybe my Colonel Meow obsession has reached an unhealthy level. So what? It’s not meth. (Note: That’s my defense for everything.)

CARTER: You ate the whole bag of chocolate covered pretzels from Trader Joe’s?!?!

ME: What? It’s not meth.


CARTER: You’ve have 8 cups of coffee today!!??!! Your heart is going to blow out of your chest!

ME: Babe. It’s coffee. Not meth.

 Or even this…

ME: At least it’s not meth!

Ok. Maybe that last one was stretched a little bit. I don’t know. I’m clearly no expert.

So, yea. I probably won’t win this decorating contest. This means that I’ll be devastated and will likely collapse into one or both of the following:

          Change the background of my phone to a disapproving picture of the Colonel so that it will function like my ballet instructor growing up. He will shame me to do better.

“What do you mean ‘my legs don’t do that’? EVERYONE can do the splits! What’s the matter with you? Do you not want to be a ballerina? Well, good. Because you have flat feet and terrible point. Ballet doesn’t want you!”  

(Only instead of “ballet,” think “pumpkin decorating” and in place of “ballerina,” put “pumpkin decorator.”  Everything else can stay. Truth bombs, y’all.)

          Take a sick day to wallow around in my bathrobe looking at the Humane Society website so that I can adopt a cat that looks as disapproving as The Colonel because the phone background just wasn’t shaming enough. (How do I know? I wasn’t trying to lose my balance on the linoleum so I would accidentally land in the splits. Torn groin, lorn shmoin.)

It’s happening, friends. To help stave off “the crazy,” you may send me gifts of fine, chocolate-covered fruits and DVDs of Community.
Until then, here is some other news in my life:

          My “tendonitis” in my foot is rearing its ugly head again. (“tendonitis” is apparently the medical term for the pain so severe that one can’t put on one’s socks without singing “Dixieland” through clenched teeth to keep from screaming. Again, I’m no doctor.)

         I rediscovered my deep and profound love of melted, fake cheese. (i.e. the “queso” at your favorite Mexican restaurant.)

          I may or may not be addicted to caffeine. The jury’s still out. Carter, your vote doesn’t count.

          No one will go with me to see Hotel Transylvania.

          I am coming to terms with the fact that I am only interested in the following movies:

o   Children’s movies

o   Comedies

o   Anything involving the ladies Austen and Bronte.


          I participated in the naming of a Baby Alligator. (That was pretty cool and Famous Person-y.)

          I realized last night that I am entirely too comfortable talking about my:

o   Hoo-ha (Though I still can’t call it by its Christian name: Vagina. Though, if the Tea Party is to be believed, maybe “Hoo-ha” IS its Christian name.)

o   Uterus

o   Menstruation

o   Breasts

o   Love of all things “Ryan Gosling ‘Hey Girl’ meme”

o   Colonel Meow addiction

o   Friends who have or have not had episiotomies.(Seriously, kids. I realized this over margaritas. I’ve never given birth, so I’m out. But if you don’t want me to talk about it, never tell me about your episiotomy or lack of episiotmy. Because I apparently not only find them infinitely appropriate for dinner conversation, but I also am horrifyingly comfortable discussing them. What? You’re gonna try to cut my hoo-ha someday? FABULOUS. What? That kid for whom you cut my hoo-ha is eventually going to turn into a teenager, smell bad, whack it constantly, and hate me for ten years? Wait. What?!?!?! Clearly all of my fears and priorities are totally appropriate.)

o   Love for Liam Neeson. (I may be just the teensiest bit obsessed. When he got nearly naked on Ellen the other day, well, let’s just say I had to go shut my head in the freezer. At work. I was watching Ellen at work. It’s a drawer freezer below the fridge. No one looked at me funny at all. They did back away slowly though. And by slowly, I mean as fast as their knock-off Jimmy Choos from Shoedazzle would allow them.)

o   My hostile digestive system.

o   My hostile uterus. (Note: different than my uterus on vacation.)

o   My paycheck

o   My shockingly extensive knowledge of transvestitism and its many famous (some of them shocking!) practitioners.
         I have no willpower when it comes to flossing.Can’t do it. Won’t do it. Will probably die of gingivitis.

          My first student loan payment for my Master’s degree is due in a month. This means that my fiscal anxiety will go from level 8 to level a million and I will probably spend at least 45 minutes of my evenings every day looking at my savings account, sobbing, and telling Carter that he’s a horrible human being for not being rich. (Note: I have NEVER claimed to be rational on this blog. Not once. Now’s not the time to start.)

I wish that there was more to say in the life update, but after the whole episiotomy/Liam Neeson bit, you’re probably done anyways.

It’s almost Friday, y’all!

Colonel Meow:
Sensitive, hipster Ryan Gosling:

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  1. BWWAAAA HAAAAA HAAAAA!!!!! I am so GLAD I am not the only one without an “appropriate” filter. Episiotomy scars? Let’s dish…loudly in public places! Uteruses in general, hostile or vacationing? Sure! ANY bodily functions? The grosser, the better!
    Just do NOT talk to my about fly ffspring over rice…*grin*

  2. I saw this link on Chris Dean’s page, followed it, read your post and laughed so hard I think I peed a little.
    You may now consider me a somewhat obsessed fan of The Colonel. Oh, and in the spirit of dishing, I have not had an episiotomy, but my son at age 4 was happy to tell anyone who would listen about how he came out of my stomach. Telling a child where baby’s come from truthfully is so worth it, but talk about no filters! He loved to share his knowledge. “I didn’t come out of my mommy’s vagina, I came out of her stomach!” Then he would reach for my pants to show people the scar. Here’s to lack of appropriate filters! *Raises glass* Cheers!- Karen

    • SO glad you followed the trail over here! I am spreading the frown for the Colonel. I just love his little frowny face!! Your son sounds hilarious. Watch out. He may start a blog. I think I mortify my mother. I only write nice things about her because she made me promise, but I did mention in a post one time that we both have received pelvic exams in teaching hospitals with 10+ people in the room. (Not together. But still. I have been told never to write about her again.)
      Cheers to no filters! Thanks for stopping by, Karen! I hope you’ll follow along!

  3. Why is Col. Meow so stern? Bad episiotomy?

    Btw, you win for finding the best meme meme: a total Hey Girl/Binders mash-up. Bravo!

    Why does the word episiotomy make me snort? Oh yeah, two C Sections. Hey, it’s not meth.

    • MAYBE THAT’S IT! You may be onto something there, Amy. And Ryan Gosling is a consummate feminist. And that is why we keep him. And you’re snorting because it’s a funny word. But you’re right. It’s not meth. 🙂

  4. Found you through BlogHer. By far the greatest blog post EVVVVER. Will definitely come back for more. You’re now my crack addiction. Keep it comin’.

    • So glad you found Nested! I think it’s fun over here! I hope you follow along!
      P.S. I’ve never been anyone’s drug of choice before. I’m infinitely flattered. I think. I’ve never really done drugs. But I’ve heard that people who do them think they’re nice. Which means you think I’m nice. Which is a compliment. So yes. I’m flattered. Thanks!

    • at least it’s not meth!

  5. yes, drugs are nice and so is this blog. there’s nothing wrong with talking about your boobs or your ladybits. haven’t i taught you anything. 🙂 xx

    • Well thanks, Bev! I personally think it’s totally acceptable to talk about one’s boobs or lady-nest. Carter, however, I think is a little protective. Sweet man. But I’ve learned so much! Processing the blogwhoring info in your email. Expect reply soon. xx.

  6. You make me laugh so much! I love your blog. I am picturing the Liam Neeson bit in my head, and I thought I was bad for fanning myself when I see him…Oh my goodness. Perimenonopause here, and he sends me into flashes!

  7. oh I have zero filter anymore! I found out all this ridiculous stuff when I was pregnant and when I gave birth, and am all “TELL THE WORLD!! NO MORE SECRETS! GO INTO THIS INFORMED!”

    and to that end:
    I did not have an episiotomy. But my vag tore like a bitch. luckily I didn’t feel it happening (which was a debilitating fear of mine).
    Unfortunately, my doc didn’t know I didn’t have an epidural (he was totally useless and yes, I’m crazy), and started going at me with a fishhook to my terribly sensitive lady parts! I made that known REAL QUICK, thank you very much.

    • I appreciate your lack of filter! Holy crap! That sounds like quite an experience. My friend just had a baby and said that you’re so overjoyed with the moment that they could do anything down there and you wouldn’t notice. I’ve always thought that had to be a load of crap – certainly if someone was trying to quilt your ladybits. Just saying. Whenever I decide to procreate, I’ll be counting on your lack of filter to provide all the dirty details!

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